


Hatred

by cleoselene



Category: Legend of the Seeker (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Rage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 03:43:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19985533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleoselene/pseuds/cleoselene
Summary: This is a re-post from my old Livejournal account.  Canon compliant, an imagination of what life was like for Kahlan during the unseen events of "Reckoning" as she tries to think of the child Darken Rahl has forced her to carry and how she will teach her unborn daughter, not knowing she is about to give birth to a boy.NOT a pro-Kahlan/Darken fic.  Look elsewhere if that's your interest, sorry!





	Hatred

Ever since Richard had disappeared that night in West Granthia, hatred had been her constant companion.  
  
Oh, for some time she clung to hope, particularly after Shota told her the way to try to bring him back: she'd need to have a child, a child who would grow up and help bring the Seeker home, but hope alone was not enough. Maybe if Richard were there, maybe if he could talk her through the day and remind her that they could achieve anything, maybe hope would have prevailed. But hope couldn't get her through nights sharing a bed with Darken Rahl, hope wasn't enough to push her to create a child for the sole purpose of destroying that child's father. Hope couldn't help her withstand his smarmy smiles and sugary words, hope didn't make his touch any more appealing or welcome.  
  
No, she was ashamed to realize, hope simply was not powerful enough to keep her going. Only hatred could accomplish what she needed to do. Only hatred could force her not to claw his eyes out every time he rolled toward her in bed. Only hatred could keep her from resisting the urge to break every bone in his hand every time he touched her growing belly. She used her hatred, sharpened it, focused it. The thing about hatred, was that it's second only to love in its power. And unlike love, hatred could burn brilliantly and feed itself. It did not depend on reciprocation.  
  
It was her hatred that kept her conscience from lamenting over how _pathetic_ he was. Pathetic and deluded. It didn't take long for her to realize that he honestly believed he could make her love him someday. The man who hunted and murdered her Sister Confessors, who casually ordered the executions of countless innocents, who commissioned the construction of Whisperers to lay waste to villages; somehow he still believed he could make the people love him.   
  
That he could make _her_ love him.   
  
It was offensive. To her and to everything she believed in. She'd seen too many innocent people suffer, she'd held the hands of mothers of daughters taken by the Mord'Sith, little girls stolen in the name of great service to Lord Rahl. She'd watched her fellow Confessors slaughtered, seen her pregnant sister shackled. Did he really believe he could make her love him after all he'd done? Did he really believe that he could imprison her and charm her at the same time? Was he so far gone in his own demented view of the world that he could possibly think their marriage was the kind that could create love?   
  
The answer was yes. He believed his own crazed delusion as if it were the Creator's divine gospel.   
  
Some days, he noticed. He asked her why she resisted the comfortable life he offered. She never answered. She didn't see the point. There was no reasoning or explaining with Darken Rahl. He was simply incapable of seeing anything unless it was through the thick lens of delusion. This was how she came to realize he was pathetic.   
  
Pathetic, but not pitiable. Pathetic and disgusting. Pathetic and loathsome. Pathetic and deserving of the worst possible pain she could unleash upon him. She never felt sorry for him; he'd caused too much suffering for that. Mass murderers deserved no sympathy.  
  
Some nights, while he slept, she'd whisper her words of loathing. Whisper them softly, hoping they invaded his dreams. She'd tell him that he wasn't half the man Richard Cypher was, that he could never understand love, that he was incapable of it.   
  
It was hatred that made it possible for her to keep going. Hatred was her fuel, her sustenance, her life's blood. Soon, she would be a mother, within weeks if not days. She rubbed her massive belly and whispered to her unborn child.  
  
Her daughter would be her ultimate vengeance. Kahlan saw the way he cooed over her belly at times, at the dreamy look in his eye as he talked about doting on the child. He knew that his wife did not love him, but he felt certain his daughter would.   
  
She would make sure that would never happen. She would raise her daughter to be a warrior. She would raise her daughter to be a weapon. She would teach hatred to her little girl so Darken Rahl could know the truth of words Kahlan had spoken to him once: he knew nothing about love.   
  
Except that he would never feel it. From anyone.


End file.
